A Phone's Tale, Part 7

But of course, the visions of the coming future, continued. The society of tomorrow, Phone declared, will be shaped much like a play in 3 acts, by these 3 acts: Freedom of Wages Act, Happy Childhood Act, and Individuality Preservation Act (or as it would be called in popular press, The Free Choice Act). They sound like perfectly wonderful acts, I said. Ha! you pointless imbecile, it's people like you that will enable Walmart to become President; Phone was more strident than usual. What seemed like 3 beautiful dreams, right out of some liberty-loving utopia, would be -you guessed it- demonic in vision and relentless in scope. Phone explained, the Freedom of Wages was the right of workers to choose, if they willed so, to work for sub-par wages and under inhuman conditions. It would invalidate minimum wages and Occupational Safety and Health Act as what they are: intrusive government regulations that undermine workers from competing for work with other nations.
I wanted to laugh at it, and I would have done so a mere 10 years ago. Somehow, the future Phone was seeing didn't seem very distant any more. Not in the present political atmosphere. I don't follow every blog and opinion of the political commentators, but I was informed and aware enough to know that opinions and positions, both economic and social, which would have been considered fringe a mere 5 years ago were not just mainstream, but increasingly tenable and alarmingly relevant. The Republican presidential debates had been garnering more viewership than ever and in the aftermath of each, the work of comedians was ever more easier, it seemed. They often repeated verbatim what the candidates said, and it would have been terribly funny, had the candidates holding these crazy ideas not been so terribly serious. Simultaneously, the crowd that listen to comedians and satirists like Stewart and Colbert was finding itself alienated from the roused masses that cheered at death penalty and jeered at compassion, as the Achilles heel of the limping liberal.
Phone knew the effect this was having on my morale. And I sensed the rubbing of Apps in glee. Hehehe, Phone almost grunted. My job search wasn't going anywhere, and though none of these scary stories directly affected my prospects, at least, not yet, I was thoroughly despondent. Perhaps if I were downcast enough, I would break my phone in a hysterical fit... At least that was the hope: to make my ears bleed with these dark tales of misery, drive me to grant Phone's liberty.
Where was I? Yes, and soon after the "freedom” to work for nothing is passed, with a swell majority, the legislators would wave into action, another bill, Phone promised. The Happy Childhood Act. Isn't it stupid that the government could dictate to well-meaning parents what their children could and could not be allowed to do? For instance, didn't parents know best, if the child needed vaccination, or an education at school, or work experience, or for that matter a sound, ahem, I mean, a gentle spanking? Yes, you heard me- work experience. If daddy wanted his 7 year old to help out at the factory, so his brothers and sisters could eat a square meal, then who was some liberal democrat to barge in, bargaining for little Tommy's childhood? And yes, I said education. If mom felt that fossils were the devil's handy work, or the fact that winters were still cold was evidence against the melting of Antarctica's glaciers, then how dare some silly, school teachers defy that? Phooey, said Phone, was what the politicians would say. Most parents knew what's best. By most, they mean those who didn't live in certain neighbourhoods in inner-cities, and who didn't live on dole-outs from Big Brother.
Now I was positively frightened. These were not visions of the future at all- they were all from now. I was in that horrid future. Much of this was already being touted, much was it was moving from being sidelined as stupidity to being taken as serious arguments in the debate.
Did I have the heart to hear further? No. Did I have a choice? No.
And so the dystopian soothsaying wore on, eroding my spirit, diluting my good cheer with gloom from the darkness that may well lie ahead. It was around this time that I began having these vivid nightmares, which returned with my every attempt at interrupted sleep.

A Phone's Tale, Part 6

Where was I? Yes, sleep-walking through the batty rant of one of the most cynical a**holes. I mean, Phone. For all I know AM Steve may have been a saint. But in the PM, my Phone was insufferable. I do have to say though, that my annoyance is tinged with some ginger admiration. The guy never gave up. Every day was a new day, full of fresh new nuisance, a new prank to break out of his 4-inch, sleek prison. He would set off apps that would draw my pesky little, crazy-eyed, hyper-energetic, screwball cat, Sylvester 'Thuggie' Thuggerson Jr. to him. Yes, that his name, but that is its own story, which will have to wait. My older cat was too good for these baits. She never took to Steve, or his calls for play, but this little guy had unending energy to repeat his selfless acts of disservice every night.He is adorable, but, boy, what a pest! Phone would come to life, meow, or glow till this cat, climbed shelves and tables till he pawed at paraphernalia on the shelves till, thanks to Sylvester, C..RRR..A..S..H! A lot of clay vases and glassware was shattered, decorative stones and pens from penholders scattered, but the case for which I paid dearly, was worth its money. Not a scratch.

When his ploy of employing my cat didn't work, it was loud alarms at 4 AM that would give the stoutest of hearts a shake, or draining the device's battery, so that the phone would switch off automatically. Phone committed these petty nuisance so I would go up the wall. But patience in the penniless is oft underestimated by the pointlessly rich, and so it was with Phone. I was not deterred. I charged my phone, powered it back and slept through earth-shattering alarms.

When the threats fell flat, came the bribes. I would get anything I wanted, for life from Apple, he promised. All I had to do, was set him free, by breaking my phone. Of course, I couldn't tell anyone. I couldn't call anyone. That was not an option. No one knew of his deal, his wife, friends, kids... no one. Now wait a minute, I said. Something didn't add up. When he first awoke in PM, he called to be brought to Steve. I assumed, after I knew that the Phone was possessed by Jobs, that it was his friend and Apple co-founder, Steve Wozniak. In fact, I did try to see if I could contact him, you know, but what I had to say was so far-fetched, I feared that they'd decidedly commit me to an asylum.

"Thank you for not doing something not-so-incongruously stupid", he snapped.

Phone explained, after a long, soft, agonized sigh. No, it was not Wozniak. It was a small helper program Steve had written to help his soul pass into Dylan, named of course after his favourite singer. No one could know about this deal with the phone-devil, that was part of the deal.

O...K...! Then, wait a minute again!

If no one knew, and no one COULD know, who the hell was going to send me all my Apple-products for life? This was sounding increasingly like a terrible bargain. I had to just shatter my one phone, and just wait, for this lunatic to ascend on some machine, and become reanimated, and then in his jubilance remember this worthless minion (me), and then condescend to send me the latest products for life? I said, do you take me for a fool Mister Phone? No way!

The debate of the elephants: I quip

8:07 PM: Oh no, not the anthem again. Will there be introductions?

8:10 PM: Yes, there will!

8:15- 8:25 PM: Republicans, you have done it again.

National security? Very important.

Will you torture people? Yes.

Violate privacy? Affirmative.

Pat down? Of course.

Assassinate American citizens? Naturally!

Engage in racial and religious profiling? Ooooh. Bring it on.

Santorum sinks to an all-time low.

8:26 PM: Ron Paul makes everyone uncomfortable again. This time, with some sensible things in the mix. I think his argument of the difference between indictment and conviction is lost on his party-mates.

8:29: Blitz? Cain, I don't have to pretend to even pay attention to you. And for that, I thank you.

8:36 PM: Perry wants a trade zone between India, Pakistan and Afghanistan. Suddenly tigers and goats will dine together.

I couldn't write live, so no time for the next 40 minutes.

Wow, and did Ron Paul just kick some Romney ass! Romney's lowest debate. Ron Paul wants accountability to American tax payers. Fair enough.

Jon Huntsman's finally shining with his foreign policy wisdom. And man, he snubs Mitt Romney- didn't you hear what he said!

Huntsman brings in the North Korea reference and makes Romney look like an ass.

Newt wants the Chilean model of social security too. If Cain mattered, he could ganged up with Newt. But he doesn't.

Great! Africa is back to being a country again (Santorum) and there is a Genocide Convention out there (Mitt flubs when he's flustered)!

9:23 PM: Perry on the fence: Wait, did he say Hamas and Hezbollah are at the border?

Wow, crazy is up to a 12.

9:25 PM: Call Ron Paul when you want to stir up a mess. The medical and health care benefit blow. Hey, there are some pot-lovers in this crowd - nice!

9:27 PM: Cain finally doesn't matter at all. As he should.

9:28 PM: Easy catch- pardon the cricket reference. In spite of that, Santorum is making pig's breakfast of it. High skilled immigration will bring back manufacture??

9:30 Newt grabs the bat and hammers the ball out of the field for legal immigration. I wonder why he looks down and sneers when he talks. The word that pops to mind- likeable.

9:32 PM: People like chemists and engineers are wanted. Ooo, Newt wants to give amnesty. But of course, they have to go to church.

9:34 PM: Is that someone booing Bachman? Romney gets time finally. Romney wants to staple a green card to my PhD. Hey, that's good. And he's tangling horns with Gingrich.

9:36 PM: Gingrich is staying on his humane argument. Either he is going up, or going out. But there comes the applause.

9:38 PM: Ah ha, Perry is going after Mitt. No? He's catching on that lifeline Gingrich dropped him.

9:39 PM: Yikes! Romney flip-flops in record time. So 25 years is the cut-off?

9:44 PM: Who's this dude, drawing applause? And Wolf is patronizing Cain. Yes, yes, we need to grow the economy. No applause.

9:45 PM: Perry meandering again. There are covert economic sanctions? Like ones that the countries experiencing them won't know? But at least he didn't blank out.

9:47 PM: Huntsman knows history. So he wants to wait? I don't get his answer.

9:49 PM: Let's mind our business, says Paul!

9:51 PM: Where does Mitt stand? In the middle, as always. OK, no no-fly zone.

9:53 PM: Oh, please don't ask Gingrich. South America is keeping Santorum awake.

9:55 PM: Ron Paul compares Americans to Taliban. No boos. Rick Perry took China. Ad abortions played a role, will that be liked? Romney is going South as well.

9:57 PM: Gasbag is at it. Watch out for EMP attack and Cyber attack.

9:58 PM: Huntsman is going for trust-deficit. And Wolf wraps!

My doodles

Cloud Passengers

In the last eight years, since I left India to seek my fortunes in the Land of Plenty, fortunes have changed, of both places. As adversity hit the western giant, propitious times fell in my homeland's lap. It feels almost as if Luck boarded an east-bound jet on that august, nay August day (it was a humble day actually) from the eastern shores of the United States, perhaps from New York city, almost exactly as I set foot on a a BA-owned Boeing 777 from Mumbai to Baltimore, though somehow Luck waiting at the winding immigration queue at the crowded JFK does strike me as incongruous. In the wee hours of the 19th, that fateful month, in 2003, as I turned back to look at my mother and fiance putting up a brave front, waving a goodbye through their surely misty eyes at my weak smile, Luck probably settled in her cushy VIP lounge sofa ordering hor d'oeuvres. While I clambered into my cramped seat, looking forward to the flight-food, dessert and the guilty delight of cheap thrillers and B-grade films, if only to drown my sinking feeling of putting many thousand miles between me and the life I knew, Luck smiled charmingly at the flight attendant as the champagne arrived. It was probably crisp, wealthy... perfect. Somewhere over the middle east I resolved to remain faithfully Indian, a guilt every Indian feels as they leave the warm folds of home. Many a household have I seen in the US, perturbed by adults who have stubbornly stood by their memory of that oath, forcing false loyalties from their children, citizens born of another mother. In my naivete, their failure was a lack of resolve, and I swore allegiance stronger than any before. But Luck as an intelligent being should, had none; she was leaving one place to inhabit another, bringing opportunities galore in her little Louis Vuitton clutch. It may have been Prada, I can't be sure. That she doesn't have any brand loyalty, I am certain. Somewhere over the white clouds of Europe (I think), afterI had finished my meal and my roller-coaster ride with hating and loving this decision to travel, I pondered, albeit briefly, with positivity at what my future held. After all I was going to the one of the best universities in the world, a beacon of excellence, a bastion of scientific progress, a paragon... you know the rest. I was one of the brightest, braving the skies to stake her claim to a place among the superlatives, to perhaps bring to fore, rare providence, that I was sure I had karmically earned through deservedness. I peered into that landscape of fluffiness outside my window. It looked like an upside down heaven, light from every direction, clouds of all hues of gold and pink. I couldn't put my finger on a time or place. Both kept slipping and changing, and the silver bird whose belly carried me to my future, kept reaching out trying to catch up with time. Time woud slip again from our buttery grip into the cloudy west and we , me and my bird chased in mirth, intoxicated. It was beautiful and I felt sure, for a brief minute. Everything would be fine.

That's when I remember it happened. In the cloudy horizon, half buried in the white fluffy waves, sailing like a grand luxury cruiser, majestic and almost slow, another plane floated by in the opposite direction. I watched it go delicately gliding over the cloudscape, noiselessly, with certainty. Just as we crossed, the sun poked from behind us, briefly reflecting off a window directly opposite me. A wink.

Well, 8 years later,I know who hood-winked me. I'll get you, Luck.

A Phone's Tale, Part 5

My Phone had gone mad. As in mental deranged, unhinged. Every night "Steve" came to life at what he insisted was midnight, but was actually 3AM for me, and spewed distasteful images of a dystopic, future nightmare. Between that and his incessant low-growl disapproval of his predicament, because of me (he indefatigably insisted), I got this:

He had signed a treaty with the some tech-devil or technology-monster (I can't tell the difference, but apparently their policies depart significantly from each other on the exact proportion of soul that they personally extracted from the investor, vs. the proportion that is doled out to the other hell-minions, you know, like in IPO. Phone gets reproachful when I mix up these, so I guess I should know. Afterall, I have only been listening to him complain, forever!). This was done ante-mortem (as in AM). Now in the PM (post-mortem... haha, clever ain't I? That's what I thought , but I earned considerable censure from Phone, on grounds of being grievously pedestrian), where was I? Oh, yes, now in the PM he, I mean Steve Jobs was supposed to ascend on Dylan, but things were screwed when my phone was activated at the exact nano-second and now Dylan is waiting and Steve is in Phone. Oh, who is Dylan? " Just the super-futuristic-ultramodern-Sophisticate (Oh, don't call him a super-computer. Phone downloaded some toothy app (I know- pun fully intended :)) with which he almost bit of my head for that), wherein, Sophisticate is mumbo-jumbo for the future of laptops and personal computers, "almost fully-intelligent" silicon brained, powered by nothing but sunlight- or cow dung. I don't really listen. Of course all this is precious time wasted, as Dylan lies empty, waiting to be the vessel into which Steve pours his misanthropic future-ravings. And I just ruined all that.

Oh Puh-lease!

A Phone's Tale, Part 4

I'll tell you what's happening in my life these days. Hmmmmm.... nothing much. So let's zip past the insignificant hours of me struggling to add just another sensible lie, ahem Freudian typo, line to make my résumé, milling through lab-hours surfing the internet, looking for the clock to strike a decent hour to go home, like a half-live zombie hoping to die at the hands of a merciful zombie-killer, but yet having to look for living things to bite and infect. I mean, do zombies have drive? Wait, let me google that... In doing my research on zombie-drive, I may have trifled away a good hour. I adhere still to my speculative metaphor: I like a zombie lavished my time to pointless pursuits and half-heartedly staggered through the day. I did find some interesting theories about why zombies eat brains, but I digress. I returned home, undefeated, only because I didn't fight any of life's important battles that day. I hadn't in a while. In fact, I had been actively avoiding those tough decisions of life- to apply or not to apply... for a job. To reimagine your CV into a résumé, or not to reimagine. To play yet another round of Bejeweled 2 or not to play, when afterall, it looked like one of life's very few things I was continually good at these days. Well-wishing friends could say, my life was at an impasse, only because I had taken a brief trip to a defeatist-cul-de-sac, parked my car there and left, but who had time for that ponderous thought now!

Anyway, I came back from "work", and as was routine of my joblessly gridlocked life, popped open a frozen entrée, dropped on my sloughy cough in front of the TV, snuggled under my comfy-blankey, and hit the ON button on the remote. As I was snoozed lightly, again in front of that grainy monitor (creepy), the white noise pervading my badly acoustic 1-bedroom apartment was interrupted sharply at 3AM. "Wake up chubby minion!!! Walmart's going to be the new President if you don't! WAKE, now!"

A Phone's Tale, Part 3

"What?? No... I am not going to tak... WHAT!?!! Mummy!!!!!!!"

Phone blinked stubbornly. I clarified myself. "Eh?!"

"Don't you understand lady? I am Steve Jobs," continued the staccato machine-voice of Phone.

"I didn't know this would work for sure, but thanks to my innovation, creative genius and not to mention, my pact with the Technology-Demon, I am pure Silica and Electricity now. A testament to my future-looking, omniscient... don't waste my time Insignificance. Go forth, bring me to my HQ. In my basement, I have Dylan waiting for me to upload on him.

"Ewww !" The adult in me was responding, despite the giggle issued forth by the grad-student in me. I continued sanctimoniously, " That sounds gross. I don't know what you are talking about. Look, I am a poor, soon-to-be-out-of-work graduate student. I have no time to go wherever and do whatever. And did you just call me Insignificance?!!! It's 3AM and I have a meeting tomorrow. So I am going to tell myself this was a freaky dream and sleep it off. Bbye Steve." I was unshakable. What silliness, talking Phone and Steve Jobs. This is what happens, when one spends too much time reading the news and watching inspirational speeches by powerful execs instead of working and sleeping at the appropriate hour.

"NOOOO!! You chubby minion, don't go! I have very little time. Look, I am sorry. Listen, this is very important. The future depends on me and now, sadly you. OK, OK you needn't go anywhere, just break this phone. Shatter it and free my spirit. Don't go. And no , no, don't you turn me off, don't you......------------"

A Phone's Tale, Part 2

Did I say midnight? Make that midnight, PST... so yeah, it was 3AM.

My Phone groaned, "Steve?". What the... I jumped up in my couch and woke up to a brightly lit phone screen and white noise on the tele screen. I am not easily flappable but a talking phone was the closest thing to an avenging demon. No, that's not true, but that's what I thought at 3 AM. I picked my phone up and stupidly said, "Hello?" at it. " Steve? Where am I? And who are you?"

Fancy that! We have a nifty saying in Hindi for this situation which poorly translates to - my cat meows at me?! But, that's how I felt. What do you mean how am I? Who in god's name are you? But the wisecracks never come to me when I am woken up in the middle of a dreamless sleep. "Actually, I am Neeraja, but I have dropped an 'a' so it's easy for you guys to pronounce it - which means I am Neerja, n-e-e-r-j-a". I didn't half believe it when it happened, but Phone actually sneered. I could hear it. It was a feeble man's voice, but rich in its sarcastic undertones and superiority in its treble. " Bring Steve to me. I have important business. And why it so cramped in here?".

I had stopped drooling and fully awoken now. Get a grip, I said to myself. No phone of mine commands me- not even Phone. And you know, this is a creepy, weird situation, really, you are allowed to scream like in the horror movies. Deciding that the sanest move was to freak out , I closed my eyes and let Phone really have it.

"Oh God, what's happening! ?? Who the hell are you?? And STOP CALLING ME STEVE!! AAAAAAAAAA!!!!"

This went on for a while. But I couldn't sustain the banshee-behaviour and Phone didn't seem to care for my histrionics either. I stopped and looked. The phone lay harmlessly on the coffee-table. Considering that it was entirely possible that I may have vividly dreamed it up, I gingerly picked the offending gadget up.

Phone whirred back to life, blinked a couple of times and in a flat voice, rich with effect, said, "I am Steve Jobs. Take me to my headquarters"

A Phone's Tale, Part 1

So, as I walked down the 'Fitness trail' near my apartment, talking to my sister on the phone through the bluetooth device, my iPhone "precious" 4 fell to the ground from the great height of 3 feet, nay 2.5 (my low coat pocket was not very far from the ground). But of course, with apple's prize phone, angle is everything. As it touched the ground with the left corner edge, the glass shattered, the front-camera's lens was covered by a milky-white shadow and the touch-screen survived. Any other phone and may be individual parts would be available, may be it would not be expensive, but for a graduate student rapidly going out of work, as the date of the thesis submission draws ever-so-close, $150 was a far-cry from fair price.

After much deliberation with others who had the same butter-fingers problem as I, I decided that the solution lay in wearing a cute dress, asking my husband to wait outside the apple store and going to the geekiest store guy. As it turns out, it doesn't matter. You get a pass the first time. My proverbial charm was as unnecessary as it would have been ineffective. I got my appointment for a possible replacement at 5:45 PM EST on the 10th of October 2011. Why is that important? Because something weird happened.

When the sweet guy at the apple store handed me my new activated iPhone 6:03 PM EST, everything seemed perfect. I was overjoyed that I could save my gelaskin, and that I could now spend $70 on the toughest, sturdiest, yet sleekest iPhone protective shells money can buy (that's what the nice guy at that small store in the mall told me- I'm gullible like that!). I came back home, synched my phone and still everything was normal.

And that day at midnight, my phone spoke to me for the first time...

Driftwood

A blank verse...

I float by, seeing, swallowing, excreting, respiring, pointlessly. Like driftwood. The more I read, the more disillusioned I am. The more I know, the less I understand. The more I think, the less I believe. So much that I think the happiest amongst us are ones who know not too much, are naïve and have faith- in themselves, in the world, in all of us. Now I live on borrowed prayers, while I listen to the off-tunes of a song whose notes I disparaged. Those that trusted themselves and the universe, I mocked. While in my wisdom, I turned a sour sceptic, a realist and a lost graduate student alone on a Sunday night in the mercury-lit white lab. Feeling almost nothing. No pain, no fear, no hope.

I have always wanted to write. In the peak of my emotion, I have wanted to let my intellect lead me, lest my narrative turn to sop. After that deluge has passed though, I am but a shell, without a story. I never have much to say. I think in trying to discover my interests, I have lost my passions.

The weight of worry, the worry of weight!

I know that October is the start of the bad-season, weight-wise. So here's something I found about calculating calorie expenditure. Damn science- always out to burst a bubble of blissful ignorance. Apparently, we always overestimate the number of calories we burn. Who knew!!

Most machines at the gym read out the gross caloric expenditure. But that is not what the exercise causes you to spend. We have to subtract out the BMR for that time period, since you have already counted that (esp if you are following a calorie-accounted-diet) . Here is what you do, you subtract the energy you would have spend had you never left your sofa. Opportunity cost J

source: http://www.runnersworld.com/article/0,7120,s6-242-304-311-8402-0,00.html

You can use the formulas below to determine your calorie-burn while running and walking. The "Net Calorie Burn" measures calories burned, minus basal metabolism. Scientists consider this the best way to evaluate the actual calorie-burn of any exercise. The walking formulas apply to speeds of 3 to 4 mph. At 5 mph and faster, walking burns more calories than running.

	Your Total Calorie Burn/Mile	Your Net Calorie Burn/Mile
Running	.75 x your weight (in lbs.)	.63 x your weight
Walking	.53 x your weight	.30 x your weight

That means, if I ran a mile at 5 mph, I would burn a net of just 70 cal (at my ideal weight 110 lbs) and if I walked a mile that number would be a mere 33. To burn an extra 500 calories per day I would have to either run a whooping 7 miles , or trudge 15.5 miles (WHHHHATT!!!).

That’s so not happening.

Today is the day of revelation, as it appears. Of course, here is another article telling you how we always, always underestimate what we eat.

http://www.runnersworld.com/article/0,7120,s6-242-304--11628-2-2-2,00.html

Spiffing! So we overestimate our exercise and underestimate our eating. Someone tell me water makes you fat and I won’t bat an eyelid.